


Awake, Arise or Be For Ever Fall’n

by brevitas



Series: Path to Paradise [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Christian Mythology AU, Explicit Language, M/M, Modern AU, Unrequited Love, quite a bit of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 06:28:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brevitas/pseuds/brevitas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is a demon and sees an angel that burns him (but it's pleasant because he misses the feeling of warmth).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awake, Arise or Be For Ever Fall’n

Grantaire died decades ago, face-down in a gutter outside Paris and choking on dirty rainwater. He doesn't remember it very well (he was exceptionally drunk) but to this day he shies away from stagnant pools of water, and hates the rain.

He's sent to Earth for a reconnaissance mission, which really just means he needs to keep an eye on whoever his boss tells him to and make sure the mark doesn't drift to the angel's side; so Grantaire does as he's told, and lands in Boston just in time to trail after the brunette into a bar.

The illusion of being human comes to him easily now, after so many years of perfecting it; he only has to concentrate before his wings fade from his vision (and yes, demons have wings just as their haloed counterparts do--Grantaire finds this misconception oftentimes hilarious), and his whip-thin tail vanishes. Demons don't have horns like the modern Christians like to think so when he slicks his dark hair back the gesture is unhindered, and he settles thoughtfully on a barstool a few seats down. 

The humans find him particularly forgettable apart from his cool blue eyes and at the worst they get goosebumps when they speak to him, but the bartender serves him the whiskey he asks for so he doesn't find much to complain about tonight. The man he's watching orders a beer and Grantaire studies him, can see laid over his corporeal form the few nice things he's done in his life, writhing in uncertain wisps of colors and light. Supposedly this gift works different with angels and they can see past sins but Grantaire wouldn't know--talking to angels is strictly forbidden and even if it wasn't, the few angels he sees go out of their way to avoid him.

The man's due to die in two days and that's how long this assignment will last, until he gets hit by a car driving just a little too fast and Grantaire pulls his soul. He hates escorting people down to Hell as much as he would never admit it, and has taken to drinking heavily right before their deaths so he has the excuse of drunkenness to keep his silence.

He's bored witless, as he usually is, and reaches out in his subconscious for his brothers. Demons are split into groups of three upon creation (Grantaire used to just be another tormented soul in Hell before the Big Guy decided he had potential and filched him) and the organization certainly makes assignments easier--their minds are linked through some voodoo shit Grantaire doesn't even _try_ to understand, only knows that talking to one of them is akin to reaching for a single thread. He finds Courfeyrac's easily and tugs on the familiar connection, hearing a moment later an amused, _What's up?_ in the back of his skull.

 _I'm bored_ , he says mournfully, taking a sip of his whiskey. It burns all the way down and sits in his stomach like fire but he likes the heat--Hell is quiet and dark and treacherously cold and the only time he experiences warmth is up on Earth. _Humans are painfully dull_.

Courfeyrac laughs and Grantaire remembers the first time he talked to someone like this, the third member of their group; Bahorel had been swearing fiercely and talking so loudly that Grantaire swore his teeth were rattling. There's no volume control on this, and Courfeyrac plays pranks on him and Bahorel often by screaming something in their ear.

 _Speak for yourself_ , he replies. _I found a blessed one_.

Grantaire cocks his eyebrow. _What are you doing following around someone going to Heaven?_ It seems fairly pointless to him to waste time on one of those saints, and Courfeyrac laughs again.

 _Well I only stopped 'cuz I was gonna fuck around with him but then an angel showed up. It got a lot more interesting after that_. Courfeyrac's voice is expressive and his humor is palpable in his tone, so Grantaire doesn't worry over him (angels and demons can only be killed by one another, and it's a dangerous line to walk. Grantaire has known several demons who were killed over the years and can personally vouch that once they're dead, they're dead, and their souls simply vanish).

Instead, he asks, _Who's the angel?_

He can picture Courfeyrac's shrug when he says, _Dunno. Just some cutie with flowers in his hair_ , and Grantaire pulls a face. Now it makes sense; Courfeyrac's sole reason for being thrown down to Hell was his insatiable lust.

 _Oh_ , he says suddenly, draws out the sound in surprise. _I think his boss just arrived. Or, uh, however angels work_.

He's quiet for a second and Grantaire checks on his mark, who has graduated to hitting on the woman sitting next to him. She's not interested and Grantaire can see when he squints that she's destined for heaven; he scoffs when he realizes that apparently she saved a child from a housefire two years ago.

Courfeyrac's voice is abruptly back in his ear and he says excitedly, _Dude, you should totally get down here--his boss is a fucking 10_.

Grantaire snorts. _Cour_ , he begins patiently, because he's said this many times before, _Stop crushing on angels. You know how much they hate us_.

 _Sure, sure, but this guy is fiiiine_. Grantaire can't help but laugh and draws a strange glance from a woman to his right that he proceeds to ignore, sucking down the rest of his shot.

 _Okay, this is what I'm gonna do for you_ , he says, earning a laugh from Courfeyrac. _My guy isn't supposed to die for two days and he's a pretty evil fuck so I don't think he'll be lured towards the Lord's light before he bites it. This means I'll come check out your angel, but only if you agree to watch this dude for me tomorrow_.

Courfeyrac chews it over but they both know what he's going to pick; Grantaire's tastes run similar to Cour's and he enjoys admiring people so much more when he has someone to gossip about them with. _Alright, fine_ , he says dramatically, and gives Grantaire his address.

 _Chicago_? He echoes incredulously, standing and paying for his drink. _Jesus, man. This guy better be worth it_.

Such a long trek means he's obliged to duck down into Hell, which he doesn't mind so much since he can get away with not talking to anybody on the trip. He sighs, straightens his dark trench coat and heads outside, casting a bothered look at the moody sky overheard. It looks like it's going to rain soon, and Grantaire really hates the rain.

He chooses an alleyway that is clean enough to be deprived of homeless people and glances furtively at the street, making sure no one's around; when he's satisfied he snaps his fingers and the cement at his feet starts to melt.

It's a strange sight but he's seen it hundreds of times before and it no longer scares him like it used to; when it weakens enough that he falls through the ground repairs itself behind his disappearance, leaving not a trace of the momentary gap.

He lands on soil not eight feet down and it jars his legs but he's a demon, for fuck's sake--a fall isn't going to hurt him, not anymore. He pulls out a cigarette and smokes it as he walks, hitting the city within a few minutes and zipping his jacket up higher. It's bitterly cold here and his breath fogs but he's used to the chill, so the most it rouses from him is a biting but expectant, "Christ."

He knows none of the demons he passes and while they all happen to live in a giant underground city not many of them are friendly with each other, so none of them say anything and neither does he. He's visited Chicago on business before so he knows which place will be the best to come out at and it only takes him five minutes, jogging lest he arrive too late and Courfeyrac never lets him live it down.

Leaving Hell is harder than returning and it's more of a grimy climb than a sharp drop. He wipes the soil off his hands when he pulls himself out at Lakefield Park, safely hidden behind a messy row of hedges, and steps away from it the ragged hole. It closes noiselessly behind him, the grass rippling as it's repaired.

Courfeyrac is two blocks from him so Grantaire sets out promptly. The sun is nearly setting here and it's much warmer than Boston was so he loosens his jacket some to let in the heat. His skin runs colder than a normal human's so to him the heat feels exceptional, quickly bringing a flush to his cheeks.

When he hits the street he sees hide nor hair of Courfeyrac, and frowns when he grabs his name and asks, _Where the hell did you go?_

 _You're finally there?_ He gets in reply, and then a nervous laugh. _Uh, I had to clear out_.

Grantaire takes a deep breath and tells himself that he'd regret murdering Courfeyrac (maybe). _Why the fuck didn't you tell me?_

 _I was preoccupied_ , he says defensively, and he sounds distracted. _That guy I was telling you about, he's fucking_ scary! _He caught me watching them and I swear to god I thought I was going to pee my pants_.

Grantaire snorts, slowing his pace and debating on grabbing a coffee while he's here, studying a cafe that looks particularly promising across the street. _So did he chase you or anything?_ He asks as he holds a hand out to the traffic and crosses in front of a few idling cars.

Courfeyrac laughs, says, _No, man, I was gone long before that. He just yelled that I should leave. But, hey, you know that rumor that angels can like, make us catch fire? I'm pretty sure they're true_.

Grantaire rolls his eyes and deadpans, _You're a drama queen_ , which earns another lengthy laugh from Courfeyrac. He's about to say that nobody can be that scary when suddenly a warm breath blows across the back of his neck and he jumps, shivering, because that's the telltale sign that an angel is around.

 _Shit_ , he says, hurries to step inside the coffeehouse, _I think your boy's still here_.

And so he is, because a hand descends on Grantaire's shoulder and a callous voice says disapprovingly, "A _second_ demon?" Grantaire's breath hitches.

Courfeyrac's voice is a low whine in his ear but all he manages to hiss is, _Hold on_ , and it drops away. He turns and the man retracts his hand, frowning at Grantaire, who only belatedly notices this because the first thing he sees is how beautiful this man is.

"Holy shit," he gasps, and the angel lifts a perfectly sculpted blonde eyebrow. This man cannot be real, no way in Hell--or Heaven, for that matter. His eyes are such a shade of blue that they have to be genetically enhanced.

"I already told your friend to leave Jehan alone," he says tersely, and Grantaire stares blankly at his mouth, nods reflexively when the pause gets too long and the man's frown starts to reappear. "So, can you go now?"

"Oh." Grantaire blinks, flicks his eyes up to the angel's and his stomach tightens. "Uh, sure. Sure, I'd love to go. You know, got demon-y shit to do and all that jazz."

He's blatantly frowning at him now and Grantaire retreats a few steps, scrubs a hand nervously through the back of his hair. "Uh, sorry." The angel watches him dubiously, and Grantaire adds, "About my friend. He sees a pretty boy and he gets a little ahead of himself."

There's that breeze of hot air again and Grantaire realizes that the slender man standing a few feet behind this one is who Courfeyrac must have fallen in love with, as he noticeably has a few blossoms tucked into his long hair. Grantaire can see the shimmer of their pale wings arcing behind him when he focuses, and knows that the glint of unbearable light hovering above their heads are those damn halos they all wear. His tail swishes back and forth behind him, unnoticed by the humans who are politely ignoring the quiet fight, watched intently by the angels with suspicious eyes.

"I'm, uh, Grantaire." He sticks a hand out and the angel stares down at it like it's something filthy and contaminated, which he guesses to a being such as this man, it is. He starts to pocket it when the angel says mildly, "Enjolras," and shakes his hand.

Heat rushes recklessly up his arm to his elbow and Grantaire, startled, yelps, "Christ!"

Enjolras looks alarmed when he jerks back and Grantaire is unsure whether it's because he just cursed his God or if the same thing happened to him only with a biting chill, and rushes to apologize. "Sorry, I didn't know that would happen or anything, I didn't mean to shock you--"

"It's alright," Enjolras interrupts, wipes his palm on his thigh. He glances over his shoulder at his companion, who had worriedly taken a few steps forward, and inclines his head towards the door. "Pleasure," he tells Grantaire blandly, and the pair leave together.

Grantaire watches them through the window until they furtively duck into an alleyway and heaves a grand sigh as he sits down, clasping Courfeyrac's mind and saying breathlessly, _I think I'm in love_.

Courfeyrac laughs and then realizes Grantaire is being serious and asks, _Wait, what the hell did I miss?_

Grantaire grins and sets his chin in his palm, replies, _The prettiest angel telling me his name_ , and Courfeyrac barely misses a beat before exclaiming, _You got his name?!_

 _Enjolras_ , Grantaire breathes, like it's a prayer. _His name is Enjolras_.

**Author's Note:**

> ah this is what happens when I'm left alone with a computer and unchaperoned, I don't even know, guys
> 
> but anyway this is what's up--this can either remain a stand-alone or I can edit it into a series or slap on chapters or something, but I'm not going to do that unless people are interested. the only way for me to know that is if you guys leave kudos or if you have time, comments. if I get enough, I'll continue this, and if I don't I'll leave it be.
> 
> so title comes from Milton's Paradise Lost, btw, because I'm a sucker for good literature, and I think that's about the only notes I've got for this baby
> 
> OH! and also I'm not treating this seriously like Christian mythology so I don't mean any offense to anybody who's religious, and I'm kind of just making up my own rules (that doesn't necessarily mean that you won't see classical angels and demons in here if I continue though, just saying)
> 
> follow my tumblr if you want, it's idfaciendumest and I'm happy to answer any and all asks about absolutely anything
> 
> also last note but holy gods all those italics almost slayed me
> 
> kisses to you all <3
> 
> EDIT: I got 6 comments and 28 kudos in under a day; I'm turning this into a series and will post up a new part soon <3 thank you to everybody who read, liked, or commented, you guys are all darlings
> 
> the series' name, Path to Paradise, is from a Dante Alighieri quote; "“The path to paradise begins in hell.”


End file.
